“Life’s funny like that.”
When he finished the sandwich, he stood slowly. Before leaving, he looked at me again.
“You shouldn’t live a life like this.”
I almost laughed.
“Neither should you,” I said.
For a second, he smiled—not tired, not lost, just… present.
Then he walked away.
I didn’t think about it much after that.
But the next morning, everything changed.
I woke to the sound of an engine idling nearby.
At first, I thought it was just another truck passing over the bridge.
But the sound didn’t fade.
It lingered.
I unzipped my tent and crawled out.
And froze.
A long black limousine was parked a few yards away.
Not the kind of car that ever came to this part of town.
Standing beside it was a driver in a dark suit.
When he saw me, he walked over.
“Are you Michael Carter?” he asked.
I blinked.
“Yeah… that’s me.”
He nodded politely and opened the back door of the limousine.
“Mr. Whitmore would like to speak with you.”
I frowned.
“Whitmore?”
“Charles Whitmore.”
The name meant nothing to me.
But I stepped closer and looked inside the car.
And my heart nearly stopped.
Sitting in the back seat was the old man from the alley.
Except he didn’t look like the same person anymore.
His clothes were now a perfectly tailored suit. His shoes polished. His hair neatly combed.
He looked… powerful.
When he saw my face, he smiled warmly.
“Good morning, Mike.”
I stared at him.
“You… weren’t homeless.”
He chuckled softly.
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